The summer of 1943 at Exeter was as happy a time as I ever had in my life.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
Exeter was, I suspect, more crucial in my life than in the lives of most members of my class, and conceivably, than in the lives of almost anyone else who ever attended the school.
My best year was probably 1948, and after that, it's been downhill for me.
My school days were the happiest days of my life; which should give you some indication of the misery I've endured over the past twenty-five years.
As early as the autumn of 1862, I was made very happy by being sent to school.
I remember in high school trying to get home from water-polo practice in time so I could see Happy Days on television when it first came on, because I was so blown away by it. It was just such a cool thing.
I had a similar year back in 1984 when I felt like I couldn't lose.
After graduating in the summer of 1980, I knew I wanted my life to count.
In spite of holidays when I was free to visit London theatres and explore the countryside, I spent four very miserable years as a colonial at an English school.
What was I like in 1966? I was 19 years old, very confident, and life was a big adventure.
Summer of 1967 was one of the happiest times of my life.